


Eight Is Enough

by verhalen



Series: Seeds of Fire [14]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Flameborn Omegaverse, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, Alpha Finarfin, Alpha Nerdanel, Alpha/Omega, Alqualondë, Alternate Universe, Angry Finarfin, Beta Galadriel, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of Abortion, Don't Mess With Finarfin, Dying whale noises, Explicit Sexual Content, Finarfin In Barrister Mode, Finarfin Throwing Shade, Fëanor Needs A Hug, Gay Sex, Hiding a pregnancy, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Lactation Kink, M/M, Magic, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Naming Ceremonies, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Fëanor, Omega Verse, Postpartum Depression, Punched In The Feels, Sad, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Canon says that Fëanor has had seven sons. But in this reality, Fëanor has eight sons.Here is the tale of how Fëanor came to have his eighth and last son.
Relationships: Finarfin | Arafinwë & Galadriel | Artanis, Finarfin | Arafinwë & Nerdanel, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Galadriel | Artanis, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Finarfin | Arafinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Seeds of Fire [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1418458
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

Shortly after Fëanor gave birth to Amrod and Amras, he fell ill - giving birth to twins had been taxing, and the ordeal of childbirth was always a bit traumatic for him after the way his own mother had died in childbirth. Not having a proper nest after the childbirth, not being given comfort from Nerdanel, his Alpha, had also affected him. He fell into a deep depression after the birth, which sapped the strength from him and left him weak, with aches and pains.  
  
He had sent couriers to his brothers to let them know he'd survived and the babies were well, but he did not tell them in his message how he was suffering. And when Fingolfin and Finarfin rode out to pay their respects to the twins, as well as check on Fëanor, he put on a good show of being fine even though he wasn't. It was considered normal to not want sex for several weeks or months after giving birth, so Fëanor was able to disguise that he'd fallen into a pit of apathy, and more than anything, he just wanted to be held, which his brothers provided while they were there.  
  
But as time wore on, Fëanor still could not pull himself out of the sadness. He and Nerdanel barely spoke now, and went for days at a time without seeing each other, which had nothing to do with Fëanor being in the forge - Fëanor was not smithing, and often, they were right there in the same manse. Increasingly, Fëanor only had his youngest sons for company, and occasional visits from his other sons. Of his other sons, Maglor came around the most frequently... and regarded Fëanor with a concerned look, a watchful eye that made Fëanor wonder if Maglor could see what was really going on with him, or perhaps, even, if Maglor could hear it in the Song.  
  
On one of Maglor's visits, he insisted on cooking for Fëanor himself, chasing the servants out of the kitchen, and brought Fëanor perfectly seasoned fowl, fresh fruit and vegetables, and even a small lemon cake. He made Fëanor a nest of blankets and pillows, and fed his oma by hand. "Oma, you always took good care of us, now it is time for your son to take care of you," Maglor said. After Fëanor's meal, Maglor held him close and sang to him, and he sang so sweetly that Fëanor went to sleep, sleeping better than he had in months.  
  
Three days later, a white raven arrived at the manse, bearing a scroll with Finarfin's royal seal, for Fëanor's eyes only.  
  
 _Fëanáro.  
  
Kanaraurë tells me you are unwell. I think I know why. A rider is coming for you within the next day to bring you and the twins to Alqualondë for a much-needed holiday. Do not refuse.  
  
-Arafinwë_

 _(Also: bring that project you are working on for my daughter. Perhaps you could finish it while you are here.)_  
  
Fëanor swallowed hard and blinked back tears. It was both a blow to his pride and a relief all at once. He didn't want his brothers to know _how_ badly he was doing, nor his sons; he didn't want to be a burden on anyone. It seemed like Nerdanel thought he was too needy. But he was aching for comfort in his brothers' arms, and above and beyond that, he was screaming to get away from the house he shared with Nerdanel, which increasingly did not feel like a home.  
  
Fëanor packed for himself and the twins. Though it had been well over a year since the last time he'd worked on the brooch for Galadriel, and he had deemed the project abandoned and pushed it out of mind because abandoning his works hurt too much, he packed the unfinished brooch as well.

And when the rider came in the morrow Fëanor and the twins were off without Nerdanel even coming out to say goodbye. Fëanor tried not to cry on the ride out to the sea, not wanting to give in to the utter defeat and humiliation of the rejection from the woman he had once loved so fiercely, and still loved and cared for in his own way. But when the air began to smell and taste of the salt of the sea, Fëanor let the tears come, silently. And when Finarfin met him at the gates of his palace, they just looked at each other for a moment and Fëanor saw the tears reflected in his brother's own eyes, and in that long gaze Fëanor knew Finarfin had known all along, and had not wanted to insult what was left of Fëanor's pride, but he could no longer hold back his concern.  
  
When Finarfin led him inside, they went straight to the library - where Finarfin often retired to be alone - and it was there that Fëanor fell apart in Finarfin's arms, weeping brokenly. Finarfin held him tightly, fiercely, rocking him. "I've got you," Finarfin whispered. "You're safe here."  
  
Finarfin's scent was almost overpowering, but still delicious. Fëanor breathed deep, breathing Finarfin in like Finarfin was the air he needed to survive. He felt almost addicted to that scent, rain and forest and wildflowers and musk, innocence and primal, raw sex. It seemed in those moments that Finarfin was more of a fertility god than any Valar could hope to be, the life of Arda pulsing through him, the light of the Trees in the hair wrapped around him like a blanket now, and just feeling Finarfin's heartbeat made Fëanor start to feel alive again, instead of a cold, spent shell.  
  
Finarfin took Fëanor's face in his hands and kissed him passionately, then more tenderly, before a soft kiss on Fëanor's brow. "You're going to be all right, brother, if I have anything to say about it," Finarfin husked. Then he took Fëanor's hand, and they pushed the baby carriage together out of the library, into the halls. "Come. There's a nest with your name on it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oma": the word used in this verse for "Omega parent" regardless of gender.
> 
> -raurë: What Fëanor's sons are called instead of -finwë, after RAWR, an OC who is the Alpha mate of Mahtan, who was more of a parent to Fëanor than Finwë was.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few weeks that Fëanor stayed with Finarfin, the days passed in a blur. Though he was grateful to be around his brother - his Alpha - especially when Finarfin held him at night, he had been fading away for so long that it felt almost like his old self was gone, like his fëa had taken permanent damage in the months following the birth of the twins.  
  
And then, gradually, bit by bit, he found himself coming alive again. He started to get back his appetite for food, as Finarfin plied him with all the things he loved to eat. Finarfin took him for walks on his beautiful estate, through the gardens, and out to the sea. The birds loved Finarfin, and especially the swans, and Fëanor loved seeing Finarfin interact with the pretty birds, the way Finarfin smiled, the light in his eyes. Fëanor found himself looking forward to the walks each day, pausing to reflect on his surroundings, and as he admired the world of nature, his own inner world came back to life, inspired by what he saw, and what it made him feel.  
  
One day Finarfin suggested something different for a change. "Eärwen and I would like to take you and the twins swimming."  
  
"Aren't they too young for that?" Fëanor asked, concerned.  
  
"No," Finarfin said. "Since we live by the sea, all my children learned how to swim when they were babies."  
  
To further assure Fëanor, Finarfin produced flotation devices he'd invented, shaped like swans, demonstrating them as Fëanor bathed the twins in the bathtub. Fëanor was impressed - it seemed inventing ran in the family - and felt a little less wary of taking the babies out for a swim. It also happened that Eärwen was a very strong swimmer, and there was a rock pool at the beach where the pull of the tide was much more gentle, with less chance of anyone being pulled into undertow.  
  
They made a day of it, bringing a picnic lunch, and Finarfin and Eärwen took turns showing the babies how to swim, first taking their arms and legs to motor them through, then the babies naturally imitated the movements the adults were making. While the babies would need more lessons over time, the twins caught on fairly quickly, able to paddle a lap around the rock pool before the end of the day, and they seemed to enjoy it, cooing and gurgling and smiling.  
  
Fëanor, too, enjoyed being in the water. He especially enjoyed it when he and Finarfin splashed each other, and then Eärwen joined in, taking Fëanor's side against Finarfin, splashing madly until Finarfin looked like a drowned rat. Satisfied, Fëanor stretched out to float, closing his eyes for a moment with contentment. It was then that he felt something grab his toe, and he let out a scream as it grabbed his leg. "Shark!" Fëanor cried out.  
  
But it was Finarfin! Finarfin bobbed to the surface, laughing.  
  
Fëanor splashed him again.  
  
Then Finarfin ducked back underwater and started tickling Fëanor until he was tapping out on the water, laughing and shrieking while Eärwen watched, shaking her head.  
  
"I think the babies are more adult than you two," she teased once Finarfin returned to the surface.  
  
Finarfin splashed her, and then she ducked underwater and the next thing Finarfin knew, he was under "shark attack" from Eärwen.  
  
Eventually they calmed down, and Fëanor returned to floating, while still keeping an eye on the twins in their little swan-shaped flotation devices. Fëanor realized this was the best he'd felt in months. It wasn't just that he was doing something both fun and relaxing with people who cared about him and made him feel welcome, but the water felt cleansing, like he was washing away lingering miasma after the birth of the twins. He felt refreshed, invigorated in a way he hadn't felt in months. And the best part of all was watching the light of the Trees change out there, the way the water reflected the changing light and sparkled. It brought tears to Fëanor's eyes, but in a happy way for once, not sad.  
  
Finarfin put an arm around Fëanor, and Fëanor rested his head on his brother's shoulder, savoring that moment of beauty and strength. Then Finarfin's other arm rose up and he pointed at the sky. An eagle was flying over the ocean, into the silver-gold clouds, and as it got closer, the light bathed the eagle more and more until it looked like the eagle was itself made of light, and then it disappeared into the clouds to continue its journey.  
  
It was rare enough to see an eagle at the beach, and what they'd witnessed was rarer still. A chill went down Fëanor's spine, his hair standing on end, arms breaking out in gooseflesh. He felt like he had seen something holy. But not the work of the Valar - it felt like Finarfin's way with birds had brought the eagle this way, somehow. It felt like a sign that things would get better.  
  
That night, after the children were put to bed, sleeping soundly, Fëanor wanted to make love for the first time in months... and Finarfin was more than ready for it. But first Finarfin spent awhile just cradling Fëanor, holding him close, stroking his hair, letting Fëanor listen to his heartbeat... breathe his scent.  
  
"Remember how today felt," Finarfin said softly. "Remember the light."  
  
Fëanor looked up and touched Finarfin's face. "You are my light," Fëanor husked. "And that light gives me fire."  
  
Their lips met, and when their tongues met the brothers moaned into the kiss. Finarfin took Fëanor's hand and guided it from his face, down over his chest, to the hard bulge underneath his robe, letting Fëanor feel how much he wanted. And Fëanor wanted just as much, kissing Finarfin again and again as his shaking hands undid Finarfin's robe. Finarfin was wearing underneath the robe, and Fëanor licked his lips at the sight of Finarfin's cock, standing at attention, already dripping precum. He was _hungry._  
  
Fëanor dove down and took Finarfin's cock into his mouth, inch by inch. Fëanor's own cock throbbed, slick dripping from his passage, as he began to suck Finarfin slowly, looking up to watch Finarfin's reactions. Each groan and gasp from Finarfin's lips made Fëanor's cock harder and harder, and Fëanor reached through his robe to touch himself. The more Fëanor sucked, the stronger Finarfin's scent became, and that, too, aroused Fëanor. Fëanor moaned around the cock in his mouth, sucking harder, faster, making Finarfin's moans louder.  
  
Fëanor wanted to drink his seed, but before Finarfin could come he grabbed Fëanor's hair and pulled Fëanor off his cock and up into a kiss. When the kiss broke Fëanor blinked, confused, and Finarfin stroked Fëanor's cheek and rasped, "What you're doing feels incredible... but I want to take care of you, brother. I want to spoil you." Finarfin kissed him again. "I want you to feel how much I love you."  
  
Finarfin gently pushed Fëanor onto his back and proceeded to worship every inch of Fëanor's body with his fingers, palms, lips and tongue. He spent a long time kissing, licking and nibbling Fëanor's neck and throat and shoulder, and lapping and suckling Fëanor's nipples, rubbing and pinching one while his mouth feasted on the other. "Your milk is delicious, Fëanáro." Finarfin looked up with a wicked grin. "I think I like it even more than cake."  
  
Fëanor laughed, and his laughter turned into a moan as Finarfin's lips wrapped around a nipple again, sucking it harder than before, tugging on it as he sucked.  
  
Finarfin lingered at Fëanor's stomach, tracing the definition in his muscles with his tongue, caressing in slow, lazy circles as he kissed here and there. His fingers traced swirling patterns over one thigh as he bit, licked and kissed the other.  
  
His eyes locked with Fëanor's again as he licked and licked at Fëanor's cock, up and down the shaft, teasing him. Every now and again he kissed the head of Fëanor's cock, before his tongue licked circles around the head and licked down the shaft again, and back up. He licked and sucked at Fëanor's balls, and at last, began to lick around the rim of Fëanor's opening before his tongue plunged inside.  
  
Fëanor cried out, grabbing the sheets, white-knuckled, as Finarfin's tongue lashed away inside him, teasing that sweet spot, knowing what Fëanor liked. Fëanor writhed, moaning, gasping, whimpering, desperately wanting his brother's cock inside him, but also never wanting Finarfin to stop using his tongue. Fëanor was practically sobbing by the time Finarfin paused, and Fëanor could feel his slick pooling, soaking his thighs and the sheets underneath.  
  
Finarfin took a few more licks at the head of Fëanor's cock, making a show of collecting the precum with his tongue, then came up to kiss Fëanor, his mouth sweet from the precum and the slick. Finarfin's cock rubbed up against his and Fëanor whimpered into the kiss, nails in Finarfin's back, urgent. "Take me, brother..."  
  
Finarfin pushed into him slowly. It had been months since Fëanor had taken a cock, and he was tight, but he was so slick it didn't hurt, and Finarfin was gentle. Finarfin's breath hitched as he felt Fëanor wrapping around him, and the moan he made when he was all the way in almost brought Fëanor off right then and there.  
  
"I love you, my Fëanáro." Finarfin looked into Fëanor's eyes with such tenderness that it brought tears to Fëanor's own.  
  
Fëanor stroked Finarfin's face, and his hair. "I love you, Ara."  
  
They kissed deeply, and Finarfin started to thrust, slow and sweet. Fëanor held Finarfin tight, enjoying the feel of Finarfin's hands continuing to caress him, sliding over him as they kissed again and again. Most of all Fëanor loved the way Finarfin's cock rubbed inside him, teasing the most sensitive part of him so exquisitely... that feeling of holding Finarfin inside of him, one flesh. All of Fëanor's troubles melted away with each thrust, each kiss, lost in a haze of dreamy sensuality as Finarfin expressed his love with his body, a love deeper than words. Fëanor breathed in Finarfin's Alpha scent, stronger with his arousal, and felt safe.  
  
At last the teasing built a fierce, primal need, and Finarfin was no longer gentle, pounding into Fëanor, with Fëanor bucking wildly underneath him, rocking his hips back, matching his brother's rhythm, completely lost in pleasure and sensation and _want_. "Yes, yes, _yes_ ," Fëanor panted, grabbing Finarfin's glorious hair, needing this fuck like he needed the air he breathed. One of Finarfin's hands reached between them and stroked Fëanor's cock in time with his thrusts, faster and faster, until Fëanor was shaking, making feral noises, feeling ready to explode. When Finarfin knew Fëanor was close, he nipped Fëanor's neck with a growl.  
  
"Come for me, brother," Finarfin commanded.  
  
With a hoarse shout, Fëanor came, spending all over Finarfin's chest and stomach. A moment later Finarfin came too, and Fëanor sighed happily at the feeling of Finarfin's seed spilling into him... that feeling of being claimed.  
  
They kissed again, and Finarfin rolled onto his side, pulling Fëanor against his chest, rocking him, holding him tight, petting his hair. "It's all right, my love," Finarfin whispered. "It's all right. You're here with me. You're safe. You're loved."  
  
The shattering orgasm broke the dam around Fëanor's emotions - his pride, not wanting anyone to see him cry - and he wept into Finarfin's chest. "She doesn't love me anymore," Fëanor sobbed, meaning Nerdanel. "I still love her, and she doesn't love me. She doesn't care about me..."  
  
Finarfin picked Fëanor's chin up and kissed his tears, then, their foreheads pressed together, Finarfin looked into Fëanor's eyes, looking stern, and said, "I love you." Finarfin sighed and scowled. "You know, you don't have to go back to her. You can stay here with me. Eärwen won't mind..."  
  
"I can't," Fëanor said. He glanced in the direction of the nursery, a room away, and then back at Finarfin. "The twins are hers. I have to stay with her for the sake of the children. And people will talk..."  
  
Finarfin pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, looking like he was in pain, and then he simply nodded. "I can't force you to stay here, Fëanáro. But at the very least, please stay here awhile longer. You need to get your strength back. We need to work on building you up again."  
  
They kissed, and with that kiss, Fëanor's cock rose. Finarfin and Fëanor both looked down at it, and then Fëanor snickered. "I think we're already doing a good job of building me... _up_."  
  
Finarfin shook his head, laughing. "Oh, you." Then he kissed Fëanor hard, his own cock rising up inside Fëanor. Fëanor shoved Finarfin onto his back, sat up, and began to ride; Finarfin's hands slid up from Fëanor's thighs up his stomach to his chest, a hand resting on Fëanor's heart.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next day Fëanor was almost back to his old self - not quite. For the first time in months, he had the urge to create. When Finarfin had sent for Fëanor, he'd suggested Fëanor bring the brooch that Fëanor was working on for Galadriel - a peace offering after taking a lock of her hair to make the Silmarils, which angered Galadriel when she knew it was Finarfin's hair that he wanted, and knew _why_ he wanted it. Though she was a Beta and could not smell how aroused Fëanor and Finarfin were by each other, it was still obvious to her what was going on. "You would use my hair to make a tribute to your degeneracy," Galadriel had scoffed.  
  
And though Fëanor was insulted, he still did not want bad blood with his own kin. So he wanted something exquisite for her. Galadriel loved her father's gardens so, and Fëanor had decided to make the brooch shaped like a leaf. But he had stopped the project when the depression took over. It wasn't simply that he'd felt uninspired, but his magic, his energy, went into everything he made and he didn't want to taint the gift with the dark shroud of depression hanging over him.  
  
There was a forge at Alqualondë, an extension on the palace which Finarfin had arranged for when his eldest brother visited, knowing his home would not truly be a sanctuary to Fëanor without it. Fëanor took to the forge now, to continue working on the brooch; Eärwen had offered to watch the twins.  
  
But as the hours passed and he was more consumed by the Flame Imperishable within him, he found the brooch changing. It was not simply that he was adding more detail, but now the brooch had transformed from a leaf to an eagle, with Fëanor thinking about what he'd witnessed yesterday at the beach, the eagle flying into the light... the sense of wonder he'd felt, of awe, of hope for the first time in too long.  
  
The Silmarils were a testament to Fëanor's love for his brothers, the passion, the joy, the light, the _life_. The way they glowed, was the way Fëanor felt inside when he was with them both, the way he felt like each of the three of them were parts of a greater whole. It felt almost as if he and his brothers were godlike, a power in their connection to rival the Valar themselves, and he had tried to express that power, that energy, with the three stones. Galadriel did not understand, but now he hoped to convey some of that miracle to her as he shaped the eagle, remembering what he'd seen yesterday, remembering what it had felt like. _You are of the Blood of Fire, Galadriel. You, too, are like us. That power is yours to claim. Your light can hold back the darkness._  
  
Finarfin came in as it got late, bringing Fëanor food and drink. Fëanor did not want to stop working yet, even though the eagle was well-detailed, wings raised up, bearing a knot. It wasn't finished - close to it - it needed something. Finarfin sat, giving Fëanor an expectant look, as if to say _I am going to sit here and wait until you take proper nourishment_ , but Finarfin's presence in the room, his energy, fueled Fëanor's creative fire and now he knew just the thing to complete it. A stone.  
  
"Here," Fëanor said. "You can pick out the stone for your daughter's brooch."  
  
Fëanor wasn't surprised when Finarfin chose a green gem - green was his favorite color. And as Finarfin picked up the jewel and handed it to him, and their fingers brushed, Fëanor felt a spark, the same shiver down his spine that he'd felt when he'd seen the eagle yesterday. Finarfin's mouth opened, his pupils blown wide, and Fëanor knew he could feel it too. With the stone still in Finarfin's palm, and Fëanor's hand pressed in his, the stone began to pulse, and the room of the forge grew bright, brighter than the fire burning, the room glowing softly, then brighter, brighter. Fëanor's mind was linked to Finarfin's, and together they conjured the mental image of the eagle flying into the clouds, the way the eagle lit up... and now everything was silver-gold light, then white, and the stone was almost too hot to hold...  
  
The light faded, and things went back to normal, but the green of the gem was more brilliant than before, and still pulsed faintly as Fëanor picked it out of Finarfin's hand. "I hope she likes it," Fëanor said.  
  
"What..." Finarfin blinked, looking a little dazed. "What _was_ that?"  
  
Fëanor smiled. "Us."  
  
Once the jewel was set, Finarfin admired the brooch. "You always do such beautiful work, brother." Finarfin touched Fëanor's face, and grinned. Then he gave Fëanor a stern look. "Now eat."  
  
But that fire in Fëanor was still burning, and needed an outlet. He grabbed Finarfin and kissed him hard. "It is you I hunger for, brother mine. The food can wait."  
  
Finarfin undid Fëanor's apron and his breeches, and bent him over the anvil.


	3. Chapter 3

The day after the brooch was finished, Finarfin received word that his daughter would be riding out and set to arrive at Alqualondë in three days. Alqualondë became a bustle of activity, with the servants frantically cleaning and decorating to get everything to the lady Galadriel's liking. But Fëanor was even more nervous than the servants were - Galadriel didn't know that he was also visiting Finarfin, and he had concerns that she would react badly to his presence. He also feared she would reject the gift he'd worked so hard on, that he'd put so much magic into.  
  
Indeed, more than the desire to make peace with his kin, Fëanor felt very strongly that Galadriel _should_ have this brooch, that it was meant to go to her. It was often the case that when Fëanor created, it felt like whatever he was making - jewelry, weaponry - took on a life of its own, as if he had called something into being and was shaping it with his hands, and that spark of life had chosen to bond with a specific person, that piece of jewelry or that blade or that shield keyed to that one individual and their energy. Fëanor had a hard time articulating that in words; he knew many in Valinor thought him mad, with the way he was obsessed with making things, and preferred time in his forge to his father's court, preferring the life of a common smith to the life of a royal. He knew that if people _really_ knew what was going through his mind about the things that came out of his forge, they would think he was beyond mad. Fëanor didn't care so much what others thought, but he minded how his father reacted to what others thought, and he minded the way it reflected on his children.  
  
Nonetheless, that burning need to have Galadriel accept the brooch made just for her consumed Fëanor and kept him awake at night. As the time drew closer to Galadriel's visit, Fëanor lost his appetite again and even started to feel sick to his stomach. And the lack of sleep was making him irritable, even though he had lost sleep plenty of times before - especially pulling all-nighters in the forge, or making love - and wasn't like this. Still, Fëanor tried not to be short-tempered with Finarfin, who was trying so hard to make him feel better.  
  
At last Galadriel arrived. She spent the day with her father, with Fëanor's presence not revealed until the evening meal. Galadriel said nothing of her distaste but gave him murderous glances across the table, enough that Fëanor felt more and more uncomfortable as the meal went on. Part of him wanted to confront her right then and there and tell her what a brat she was, and part of him wanted to hide under the table, or retreat to his chambers altogether. He did neither, periodically reaching down into the pocket of his tunic to run his finger along the brooch, reminding himself he was on a mission.  
  
After the meal Galadriel went to the garden for some air. Fëanor took the twins outside in their baby carriage, keeping a distance to Galadriel's back, building his nerve, and finally closed the distance, moving alongside her. Galadriel neither turned to him nor moved away, but simply folded her arms.  
  
"I made you something," Fëanor said to her. "A gift. A peace offering -"  
  
"I do not want it." Galadriel would not even look at him.  
  
Fëanor swallowed hard. "Do you not want to look at it first? I spent many hours making it, I consider it one of my finest pieces, I would be honored for you to have it -"  
  
"No, I don't want to look at it, I don't want _anything_ from you." Galadriel now turned to him, and the contempt on her face was obvious. "I don't want anything to do with you at all, you degenerate _filth_ who corrupted my father and led him into _buggery_." Galadriel turned away again. "I don't want anything those hands have made, with what they've touched." Galadriel made a face.  
  
Fëanor sighed. Because devotion to the Valar was part of how Finarfin and Eärwen maintained their ruse - so Finarfin could make love with his brothers, and Earwen with Anairë, and not be subject to intense scrutiny and exposure - Finarfin's children had all received education from priests at Finwë's insistence, and naturally, it had shaped their minds to varying degrees. Finrod was fairly immune to the indoctrination, and Galadriel was the most affected by it. Fëanor supposed he should be grateful that Galadriel's fanaticism stopped just short of exposing his and Finarfin's true relationship, if only because Galadriel loved her father and didn't want to cause him scandal, but now he was just irritated with Galadriel's beliefs, including the assumption that he was the "corrupting" influence, as if Finarfin had not been the one to seduce him first.  
  
It was also a blow to his pride. He was reminded of the way he'd spent time and energy trying to make gifts for Finwë just to be damned with faint praise, if Finwë acknowledged them at all; he was reminded of the way Nerdanel was no longer interested in his handiwork, when she'd once been so supportive of his craft. It would have been kinder to Fëanor if Galadriel had slapped him in the face. Her words stung, and Fëanor found himself instinctively flinching.  
  
"Leave me," Galadriel commanded.  
  
Technically Fëanor outranked her in the hierarchy of the royal court, and had as much right to be here as she did, if not more. But he did not want her throwing a fit and making a scene and having the tide of opinion turn against him even more - especially as that sort of thing _would_ get back to Finwë, and Fëanor really did not want to deal with yet more of his father's attitude. So Fëanor began pushing the baby carriage away, back to the palace, cheeks burning with hot shame. By the time he reached the palace he was shaking, feeling humiliated, but he did not want anyone to see him cry, least of all over _her_.  
  
That night Fëanor and Finarfin did not make love, as Fëanor claimed he didn't feel well; Finarfin just held him. But as Fëanor continued to lay awake, body tense, Finarfin finally pressed the matter. "What is it, brother? And please, don't tell me it's because you're unwell. This is more than that." Finarfin looked him in the eye.  
  
Fëanor groaned - Finarfin didn't miss a thing - and then he nodded. "Your daughter refused the gift. She will not even look at it."  
  
"I see." Finarfin scowled. "I'm sorry she's being like that."  
  
"So am I."  
  
"It's beautiful work," Finarfin said. "If she does not want it, I would like to have it to wear on my cloak -"  
  
" _No._ "  
  
Finarfin blinked, his eyes wide.  
  
That word came out more vehemently than Fëanor intended, and now he worried he'd hurt his brother without meaning to. Fëanor gently touched Finarfin's face to add reassurance as he went on. "I made that brooch for Galadriel." He hated having to say this, knowing how mad it sounded - worrying that even his understanding, supportive brother would think him mad - but he had no choice now, if he did not want to cause offense. "When I make things... they are _meant_ for a specific person. I would happily give you the brooch if circumstances were different, but it is... how the power works. I am sorry, brother -"  
  
Finarfin put a finger to Fëanor's lips and then he nodded. "All right."  
  
Fëanor was relieved that Finarfin seemed to get it, but now speaking those words aloud, and the truth of them, added weight to the sting of Galadriel's rejection. Even more than what Galadriel had said to him, insulting him, insulting his relationship with Finarfin, it upset him that Galadriel was rejecting something that he felt strongly she _needed_ to have, was _supposed_ to have, even though he did not quite know why, and it would better suit his pride if he could just say "to the Hells with you" to her and give the brooch to Finarfin. Tears came to Fëanor's eyes as he felt his inner wheels spinning, the sense of _wrongness_ , things being out of order, out of place, that Galadriel was not accepting the gift. It wasn't about repairing his bond of kinship anymore, it was about her missing something that she was meant to have.  
  
Finarfin's finger traced Fëanor's lips, and as the tears silently spilled down Fëanor's cheeks Finarfin traced those too, wiping them. "You are upset that she will not take something you feel that she is supposed to have," Finarfin said, ever observant.  
  
Fëanor closed his eyes, jaw trembling, and when he opened his eyes he cried aloud, the tears coming harder. "I don't even care now about whether or not she takes it as a peace offering. I don't even care if she knows I made it, that it's from me. She _needs_ it..." He wept onto Finarfin's shoulder. "I sound like a madman."  
  
Finarfin pulled Fëanor close and held him tight. "I will get the brooch to her, Fëanor. She will not accept it if she knows it's from you, so I will have to lie. But..." Finarfin paused, stroking his chin, considering. "My daughter is no fool. If _I_ give her the brooch and say it is made by someone else, she will know I'm lying, she will know you made it. Someone else will have to give it to her... and not anytime soon. Any attempt to give her a brooch for the next while will be met with suspicion. It will have to wait for some time."  
  
"I don't care who gives it to her, or when, and what is told to her about the brooch's origins, so long as she gets it," Fëanor said.  
  
"It must be serious indeed, if you are passing up credit on your work," Finarfin said, his brow furrowed. "I know how proud you are, my Fëanáro."  
  
 _There is a coming darkness, and she will need that light of hope._ But Fëanor did not understand why he had that thought... nor did he want to understand. He was hoping it was just colored by his own grief, sensing the end with Nerdanel, the darkness of uncertainty at what lay beyond, where he would go, what he would do once it was over. Though his time here at Alqualondë had helped, he still felt that ever-present darkness of depression around the edges of his fëa, ready to get a stranglehold on him once again as soon as he left.  
  
Fëanor snuggled into Finarfin's chest, and Finarfin wrapped his hair around Fëanor like a blanket. Fëanor twined a silver-gold lock around his finger, admiring the way the color shifted in the firelight, and it soothed him enough to get him to sleep for the first time in days.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Galadriel left the next day - it seemed like a waste to Fëanor that she would travel all this way just to leave so soon. It bothered Finarfin, and Fëanor felt guilty, knowing Galadriel was cutting the visit short because of him, even though Finarfin did not blame him for it.  
  
Fëanor went with Finarfin for a walk in the garden, bringing the babies. When Finarfin paused at a rose bush, looking as sad as Fëanor had ever seen, now it was Fëanor's turn to hold Finarfin, letting Finarfin lean on him, head on his shoulder, as Finarfin breathed slow and deep, trying not to cry. "I feel as if I have lost my daughter," Finarfin said.  
  
Fëanor's guilt intensified. "I am so sorry, brother."  
  
Finarfin stroked Fëanor's cheek and kissed his brow. "It is not your fault." Then Finarfin lowered his head and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he reached down to chuck the babies' chins, making them coo and gurgle, and he smiled fondly. "It has been a long time since any of my children were that small. I almost envy you, getting to be a new parent again."  
  
Fëanor could feel the ache Finarfin felt, remembering Galadriel's childhood, and feeling the void with her being all but gone from his life. Fëanor thought of Celegorm, and felt the urge to give Finarfin another child. But a child wouldn't necessarily fix things; children were not interchangeable, after all, Galadriel could not be replaced.  
  
Nonetheless, the thought of Finarfin's seed inside him, another baby in his belly, _Finarfin's_ baby, Finarfin fucking another baby into him... Fëanor's heart skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered, feeling himself grow slick, wanting Finarfin's cock.  
  
But once again, Fëanor was in a dark mood, wracked with guilt, and his sorrow was intensified by seeing Finarfin so upset. Finarfin, his light, like _this_ was almost unbearable to Fëanor.  
  
As the next few days wore on, Fëanor's mood worsened even more. He continued to wrestle with guilty feelings over Galadriel's early departure, and once again he ruminated on Galadriel not taking the brooch. And while it was true that Fëanor's first concern with the brooch was that it got to her, even if the origins of the brooch had to be a lie, that lie still did not sit well with Fëanor. He was tired of all the lying and the sneaking around, wishing he could love his brothers openly, wishing his brothers did not have to be in sham marriages. One more lie might not have seemed like a big deal to someone else in a similar position, but to Fëanor it felt like adding insult to injury. And not only did he find so much lying distasteful, but it didn't seem fair to Galadriel to withhold the information from her, even though Fëanor believed strongly it was something she absolutely needed. But also, Fëanor _was_ proud - he considered that brooch to be one of his finest creations, not as fine as the Silmarils but still a magnificent piece of art, and not being able to take credit for it bothered him.  
  
His inner wheels kept spinning, more and more feverishly. He was once again unable to sleep, and barely able to eat - his stomach was upset, and even his usual favorite foods tasted bad to him. Everything, everywhere, smelled bad except for Finarfin himself, who smelled more and more delicious.  
  
Finarfin was concerned, and to try to help Fëanor calm down, he took Fëanor on a day at the beach, just the two of them. As they stripped down to go in the water, Finarfin's body aroused Fëanor even more than usual, and Fëanor felt too hot even as he was wearing next to nothing. His trunks were soaked with slick before he even stepped into the water.  
  
Fëanor knew then he was in heat, for the first time since he'd given birth to the twins.  
  
Finarfin smelled it, and instead of leading Fëanor into the water, he got them both dressed again and marched them back to the palace. He drew a bath for Fëanor, who whined in protest, wanting Finarfin to join him, but when the bath was done Fëanor saw why Finarfin hadn't joined him - Finarfin had been busy preparing a nest in Fëanor's guest chambers. He had made a fort of blankets and pillows, and there was wine and water and a lavish assortment of finger foods. Finarfin was waiting in the fort, naked, erect, himself laid out like a feast.  
  
Fëanor came over to the fort as quickly as he could and Finarfin grabbed Fëanor and pulled Fëanor atop him. They kissed deeply, hard cocks pressed together.  
  
"You are in heat," Finarfin said between fierce, fevered kisses on Fëanor's neck. "I had wondered if you might be going into heat." Finarfin gave him a wicked, amused grin. "Times like this, I'm glad I hired only Betas as servants, so they can't smell -"  
  
Fëanor put a finger to his brother's lips. "Shut up and fuck me."  
  
Finarfin laughed, seemingly delighted by that response. Fëanor straddled Finarfin's hips and Finarfin guided the tip of his cock to Fëanor's opening, dripping with slick. Fëanor sank down and when Finarfin was all the way inside, Fëanor wrapped his arms around his brother and kissed him hard. When the kiss broke, their foreheads touched, noses rubbing together, and Finarfin stroked Fëanor's cheek.  
  
"I'm taking care of you now," Finarfin husked. "Let me make you feel better. Let me give you what you need."  
  
"What we both need," Fëanor corrected. He was used to the darkness of despair, but to feel Finarfin so sad... Fëanor kissed him again and Finarfin kissed Fëanor back with all the fire he had, making Fëanor moan into the kiss. Finarfin began to thrust, and Fëanor began to ride, working his hips and ass, moaning again as Finarfin's cock stroked that sweet spot inside him just right.  
  
Fëanor was frantic, needy, and soon he was riding Finarfin's cock like his life depended on it, bucking madly, grabbing fistfuls of his brother's silver-gold mane, white-knuckled. Finarfin kissed and bit Fëanor's neck, growling. When Fëanor got right on that edge, ready to come but holding back, not wanting to stop, Finarfin slapped his ass.  
  
"Who do you belong to?" Finarfin rasped.  
  
"You, Ara. You and Ñolo..."  
  
Finarfin nipped Fëanor's lip hard enough to draw blood, before kissing him passionately. He reached down to grasp Fëanor's cock, working it in time with the rhythm of their fuck, and Fëanor's pleasure built to that point of no return, and he shattered, screaming as his seed sprayed over Finarfin's stomach and chest and throat. "Mine," Finarfin said, and nipped Fëanor's neck, shuddering with his own climax. Fëanor shuddered too, another bolt of pleasure going through him, loving that feeling of being filled with Finarfin's seed, claimed by his Alpha.  
  
They kissed, and a few kisses later they were both hard again. Finarfin knew well from having been with Fëanor in other heat cycles that Fëanor was even more insatiable during heat, and Finarfin seemed just as needy now, needing to lose himself in fuck after fuck. At the back of Fëanor's mind he thought about the herbs he took to prevent pregnancy, and needing to get them and take a draught, but that meant having to get up out of their nest... out of Finarfin's arms... off of Finarfin's cock... and there was no place Fëanor would rather be, right now. _I'll do it later,_ Fëanor thought to himself as he continued to ride, crying out as Finarfin drew an aching nipple into his mouth. "Don't stop," Fëanor begged, nails digging into Finarfin's sides. "Don't ever stop..."


	4. Chapter 4

A few days after Fëanor's heat cycle was over, a message came from Nerdanel. Finarfin handed the unopened scroll to Fëanor and kept a respectful distance to give Fëanor privacy while reading it, though out of the corner of his eye Fëanor saw Finarfin was watching and observing for reactions.  
  
 _Fëanor,  
  
It is time you came home. The twins need their ana.  
  
Love,  
Nel_  
  
Though the letter was worded as "the twins need their ana" rather than "I want to see you", and though Fëanor felt like he'd done the majority of raising of each of the children, the letter being signed with the word "love" still gave Fëanor a small measure of hope. Maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder, and Nerdanel missed him.  
  
 _There's only one way to find out,_ Fëanor thought to himself, rolling up the scroll.  
  
"I have to go back," Fëanor told Finarfin.  
  
Finarfin simply nodded, and did not say anything. He did not need to. The sadness in his eyes said it all.  
  
  
_  
  
  
When Fëanor arrived back at the palace, he climbed out of the carriage slowly, hesitantly. Already he was feeling a sense of dread, an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach, his steps leaden as he pulled the twins out of the carriage and began leading them towards the gates.  
  
He saw Nerdanel come down the steps. He paused, and she paused, and they just looked at each other for a moment, then she came forward - not running, just walking - but when Fëanor came through the gates, Nerdanel put her arms around him, and Fëanor rested his head on her shoulder. He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she did not recoil, but touched his face.  
  
"I hope you are feeling better," Nerdanel said softly.  
  
 _No thanks to you,_ Fëanor thought bitterly. He didn't want to be resentful of her, but he wouldn't have had to leave in the first place if she had shown the same sort of care and concern for him that she was showing now. Fëanor realized people could make mistakes, and he was no exception to that, and maybe his absence, and the reason for it, had given her a change of heart. He felt he was being uncharitable, but he was still hurt, and at the very least, he wanted an apology.  
  
There was no apology to be had, only Nerdanel picking each of the twins up out of their stroller one at a time and fussing over them, hugging them and cooing at them, kissing their faces, then she put them back in the stroller and pushed with one hand, her free hand taking one of Fëanor's hands, pulling him along. "Welcome home," she said.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The welcome did not last long.  
  
Though Nerdanel was warmer and somewhat more attentive than she was before, many of the same old problems were there. Nerdanel was uninterested in seeing the brooch, and uninterested in Fëanor's offer of making her a brooch of her own. Nerdanel spent more time with her lovers, Laurëlótë and Ehtëkáno, than with Fëanor, and most nights Fëanor slept alone. They still did not make love, nor was Fëanor particularly interested in it - Nerdanel's Alpha scent, which had once been delicious to him, was vaguely offensive.  
  
But though there was still distance between them, Fëanor still loved her, and he still held hope that they would reconcile. He hadn't forgotten the word "love" in her note, and she did, at least, hug him from time to time now, and they went on walks together every other day, and Nerdanel spoke more kindly to him.  
  
And then Fëanor started to get sick again. There were a few minor queasy spells that went away quickly, and one evening he was on a walk with Nerdanel when his stomach began to churn, and a few minutes later he was doubled over a bush, dry heaving for what felt like an eternity. Nerdanel helped him up and carried him home, and one of the healers came out to take a look at him. Fëanor faded in and out of consciousness as the healer looked him over and asked him some questions, feeling like the room was spinning, and when the healer departed his chamber he heard her out in the hallway with Nerdanel, speaking in hushed tones. He couldn't understand what was being said, but then he came back to himself just in time to see Nerdanel pay the healer with a costly bracelet of gold and jewels that Fëanor had made for her within the first year of their marriage, which was above and beyond normal payment for a healer. Fëanor didn't like that at all; he had a very bad feeling about it.  
  
The healer left, and Nerdanel pulled up a chair and sat by the foot of his bed.  
  
"You're pregnant," Nerdanel said matter-of-factly.  
  
Fëanor nodded. He wasn't surprised - he'd been so lost by lust and the need to _mate_ his last heat cycle that he'd forgotten to take the herbal birth control he used, and Finarfin certainly hadn't remembered either. And he was familiar with the symptoms of pregnancy, having been pregnant six times before. Nonetheless, the news left him with an unsettled feeling.  
  
"It is Finarfin's," Nerdanel said.  
  
"Yes, it is," Fëanor said. "Just as Maglor is Fingolfin's, and Celegorm is Finarfin's, and Caranthir is Maglor's, and Curufin is either Fingolfin's or Finarfin's or Maglor's." He felt a little defensive as he went on, "You never had a problem with this before. I have my lovers, and you have yours -"  
  
"It is not the paternity I am objecting to," Nerdanel said. "I agreed to claim all of your bastards as mine, and help raise them. But now you have seven children, and the last two are still babies yet. Seven is enough, Fëanáro. I draw the line at eight."  
  
Fëanor blinked in disbelief. "Are you saying you will not claim this one as yours?"  
  
"That is exactly what I'm saying," Nerdanel said. "I am not claiming this one. I already have two babies to deal with."  
  
 _Not that you help much with them._ Fëanor scowled. His heart beat faster, as his mind raced with the possibilities of scandal and the reaction of Finwë... the reaction of the Valar. "Nel, do you realize what this will do? Not just to me, but to the children? Do you _want_ me exiled, or imprisoned?"  
  
"You should have thought of that before you let your brother fuck you during heat," Nerdanel said. "You should have been more careful." She shrugged. "It's not my problem."  
  
"But you paid off that healer," Fëanor said, realizing she was paid outrageously as a bribe.  
  
"I did," Nerdanel said, nodding. "She will not talk. She will also bring a draught for you, if you want it -"  
  
"You're telling me to end the pregnancy?" Fëanor felt his eyebrows shoot up, and a surge of anger, hot and sharp, like his body had become a living blade. Fëanor would never condemn another person for that action, even though the Valar forbid it - Fëanor felt it was their body, their choice. But the key word was _choice_. He did not want to be forced into it himself.  
  
"I'm not telling you to do anything," Nerdanel said. "Just know that if you go through with the pregnancy, I am not claiming it as mine, and I am not letting it live here. Whatever arrangements you make are up to you." Nerdanel rose from her seat then and began to walk away. "Good night, Fëanor. Sleep well."  
  
 _Fuck you._ Fëanor wanted to say it aloud, and did not. He buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply. He did not want to terminate the pregnancy, nor did he want to live with the scandal of being obviously pregnant, and giving birth, and the public knowing it was someone else's child. That wouldn't just cause suspicion on its own, but the talk about Celegorm would resurface and it would be harder to disprove now.  
  
Fëanor lay back. This was Finarfin's child too; maybe he would be able to help somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

Because Fëanor did not trust a scroll not to be intercepted by one of Finarfin's servants, which made stating the issue explicitly problematic, nor did Fëanor want Finarfin to assume the worst - like one of the children died, or he himself was gravely ill - if he sent an urgent but vague message, Fëanor took out one of the palantir.  
  
First, he had to get Finarfin's attention so Finarfin would check his own palantir, which was exhausting. Fëanor held the orb in his hands and projected his will at it as strongly as he could. _Arafinwë. Ara. **Arafinwë.**_  
  
Several moments later, Finarfin's image appeared in the orb. _What is it, brother?_  
  
 _I am pregnant._  
  
Finarfin knew without being told it was his. His expression softened, and Fëanor could feel the spark of joy - though children were neither interchangeable nor replaceable, nonetheless this would ease Finarfin's pain over Galadriel's distance.  
  
 _Don't be too happy just yet._ Fëanor folded his arms and scowled. _Nerdanel does not want to claim this one as hers, as she has with the others._  
  
Finarfin's eyes widened with alarm. _Does she not realize what a scandal this will bring? The wrath of your father? The wrath of the Valar themselves -_  
  
 _She does, and she does not care._ Fëanor sighed. What little seed of hope that had been planted on his return was all but gone now. _She also expects me to... get rid of it._  
  
 _Well, do you_ want _to? It is your choice, Fëanáro. Though it is mine, I will not force you to -_  
  
 _I want the baby - our baby - but I do not want the judgment. Which is why I am calling upon you._ Fëanor blinked back tears. _I don't know what to do. Maybe we can think of something -_  
  
Finarfin nodded. _I will talk to Eärwen, and we will see what we can do._  
  
  
_  
  
  
Three days later, Nerdanel told Fëanor that a messenger had come by on behalf of Finwë, stating that Finarfin and Eärwen were coming out to Alqualondë to visit and their presence was requested at a family banquet in three days' time.  
  
As much as Fëanor hated official functions - he would rather be in his forge, or outside, or in his study reading or writing, anywhere but at court, expected to play dress-up and put on airs, which he felt was the biggest lie he lived - he had a feeling that Finarfin was coming out to see him moreso than their father, and in any case, he would hear no end of it if he refused.  
  
Fingolfin finally returned from a trip he was on to be there as well, and he saw Fëanor first, embracing him warmly, though carefully since there were others looking on. Fingolfin seemed to know without being told that something was wrong, giving Fëanor concerned glances, and at the banquet table, Fingolfin sat on the other side of Fëanor, taking his hand under the table.  
  
At last Finarfin had an announcement to make. "As many of you know, Fëanor was visiting me recently, and we had many things to talk about. The lady Eärwen and I will be taking Fëanor on a devotional retreat to Formenos for a year, so he can learn from our example of piety and better serve the Valar."  
  
Fëanor almost spat his drink. Of all the lies Finarfin had told over the years to save himself and his brothers, this was the most amazingly bald-faced one, and yet Finwë ate it up without question, smiling broadly, banging a spoon on his goblet with approval.  
  
"Well done, my son," Finwë said to Finarfin. "It pleases me greatly that you have led that one to reason. All of my years of trying to instruct him came to no good -"  
  
 _Oh please, spare me the fucking long-suffering martyr act,_ Fëanor seethed, biting back the words from being spoken aloud.  
  
"He needed a different approach," Finarfin said, completely deadpan.  
  
Fëanor realized that the timing of the three of them retreating to Formenos was to hide the pregnancy, and the birth, since very few servants were staffed at Formenos and all of them were paid handsomely not to talk of anything they'd seen. Their eyes met across the table and Fëanor raised his glass. "You have a compelling way with words, brother," Fëanor said. "You could be the Noldor's very own lawspeaker."  
  
Finarfin's smile was cool and amused.  
  
Fingolfin, of course, did not know what was going on - though he was not fool enough to believe that Finarfin was truly pious, he only made a show of it, and he was definitely not fool enough to believe Fëanor suddenly had a less sour attitude towards the Valar. Late in the night, Fingolfin found both of them to have a few words, quietly. "Why are the three of you leaving for a year? What is _really_ happening?"  
  
"The only devotion and worship happening will be of my cock," Finarfin said, "and perhaps yours if you'd like to visit."  
  
Fingolfin smirked. "Indeed. But... why so long?"  
  
Finarfin and Fëanor looked at each other, and Finarfin made a "go ahead" gesture. Fëanor cleared his throat and said, "I'm pregnant."  
  
Fingolfin raised an eyebrow. "Hi Pregnant, I'm -"  
  
"That's _my_ line," Fëanor said, giving him a playful little shove, "and I'm being serious, Ñolo. When I was visiting Ara, my heat started."  
  
"I see."  
  
"No, you don't." Fëanor swallowed hard. "Nel isn't claiming this one as hers."  
  
"Eärwen has agreed we will adopt," Finarfin said, "and claim the child as ours. You will still be closely involved as the child's 'uncle'."  
  
Fëanor nodded. Though he would have preferred to raise his own child himself, he understood that this was the only way things _could_ be, if he wanted to avoid open rebellion against his own father and starting a civil war, and undoubtedly, the majority of Valinor would be on his father's side.  
  
"But to do that, we have to conceal the pregnancy, so she suggested we all go to Formenos, so very few people will see when you start to show." Finarfin put his hand on Fëanor's belly, which was not anywhere near showing yet.  
  
"It is a clever ruse," Fingolfin said. Then he touched Fëanor's face. "I am sorry it has come to this, Fëanáro."  
  
"So am I." Fëanor put a hand on Fingolfin's hand, and a hand on Finarfin's hand, and squeezed. "It hurts. But as long as I have both of you, I shall manage."  
  
Fingolfin and Finarfin moved closer now, and held Fëanor between them. "You will always have us, darling," Fingolfin said, rubbing his nose in Fëanor's hair, kissing the top of his head. "Always."  
  
  
_  
  
  
For the next year, Fëanor stayed at Formenos with Finarfin and Eärwen, and the twins came with him despite Nerdanel's protests. Sometimes Fingolfin and Anairë came to visit, and sometimes Maedhros, Maglor and Fingon came to visit. Not once did Nerdanel come to visit, nor did she even send letters asking how the twins were doing.  
  
Despite the stressful circumstances that led him on this "devotional retreat", it was pleasant. Fëanor and Finarfin enjoyed each other's company, in and out of the bedroom, and Fëanor got to be better friends with Eärwen, who made him feel at home. As the pregnancy wore on and the time of birth approached, Fëanor found himself with a sense of dread - not simply over fear that someone still might discover the pregnancy, not simply over sorrow that he would not be raising the child himself, but the thought of leaving Formenos and returning to his old life with Nerdanel. He wanted to run away with Finarfin, Fingolfin, Eärwen, Anairë and all their children, and start a new life. One where they could all be themselves freely.  
  
The child was born, a boy, with the same silver-gold hair as Finarfin, Galadriel, and Celegorm. Finarfin took longer to name his children than Fëanor did, and a name was still not decided when they finally left Formenos and went back.  
  
On the ride down from Formenos, Finarfin once again appealed to Fëanor. "I wish you wouldn't go back to Nerdanel," Finarfin said. "You could stay in Alqualondë with us. You could say that during the devotional retreat, you'd decided on a monastic life -"  
  
"And that would be an even bigger lie than the one that took us to Formenos," Fëanor said. "A lie that would fall apart under scrutiny. Nobody believes the man who has seven children would choose a life of celibacy out of 'devotion'. Especially not when my two youngest -" He was referring to Amrod and Amras now, instead of the boy he'd just given birth to, the boy that he had to give away to Finarfin and Eärwen for them to raise as their own. He sighed. "Nerdanel would fight me for their custody."  
  
"You're right," Finarfin said, with a frown. "I still wish you'd stay with us."  
  
"We'd be happy to have you," Eärwen chimed in. "You'd be no trouble."  
  
"Maybe when the twins are grown," Fëanor said, "and there's been enough time since the last time I gave birth, that the ruse of a monastic life is more plausible." That lie still sat badly with him; he loved sex, and the thought of publicly repudiating it, even if he would still carry on as usual in private, made him angry.  
  
"That will be a long time." Finarfin pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
This time Nerdanel was not there to meet Fëanor at the gates, and she only muttered a greeting when he happened to pass her by in the halls. Nonetheless, she accompanied Fëanor to the naming ceremony three days after Fëanor's return.  
  
Fëanor wanted to arrive early, for even though he had no love of royal ceremony, it meant seeing the baby. His baby. Eärwen let him hold the baby, and put an arm around him as he rocked the baby and cooed, as if to show support for how hard this was going to be for him. Nerdanel watched, looking mildly annoyed, and then Finarfin put a hand on his sister-in-law's arm and said, "A word?"  
  
Nerdanel's face registered surprise - it was not exactly a secret that she and Finarfin didn't like each other, and Finarfin only spoke to her if it was necessary. But now Finarfin took her aside into the study, and Fëanor and Eärwen followed, carrying the newborn baby, the twins toddling along, pretending to be casual. It was rude to eavesdrop, but they were doing it anyway. Fëanor and Eärwen tossed a ball back and forth with the twins as they listened by the door.  
  
"When we came back from Formenos, I asked Fëanor to leave you," Finarfin said. "I won't beg. But I feel very strongly that he _should_ leave you."  
  
"My relationship with your brother is not your concern," Nerdanel said coldly.  
  
"It becomes my concern when he falls apart enough that I receive word from one of your sons and have to send for him and nurse him back to health because you are too self-involved with... whatever it is you do," Finarfin said.  
  
"If you're going to yell at me for not claiming your bastard as mine, save your breath. It is as I told him, he should have had a care to my feelings about more children before he took your cock in heat. I have already claimed four of his bastards as mine."  
  
"You keep using the word 'bastard' as if he has done something wrong, and you're not so pure yourself," Finarfin said. "What's this I hear about Laurëlótë and Ehtëkáno?"  
  
Nerdanel hissed like an angry cat. "Again, that is not your concern... and not your business. Fëanor should not have told you -"  
  
"Actually, he didn't tell me. He didn't need to tell me." Finarfin chuckled, his laughter humorless. "I have ways of finding things out."  
  
There was a long silence. Fëanor and Eärwen paused tossing the ball and just looked at each other.  
  
"Which leads me to my point," Finarfin continued. "Fëanor loves you, and he keeps trying to make things work with you. I cannot blame you for not wanting another small child in the house, seven children is a lot, even with some of them being full grown now... but I will blame you for treating him badly. I cannot force you to love him, I cannot force you to make love with him, I cannot force you to do anything. I will say, however, that if things _get worse_ , if I find out you have been deliberately cruel to him... I will run you and your lovers out of Valinor, and I assure you that anything you could say in your defense - such as trying to cast aspersions onto my brothers and I - would not save you. So perhaps you should have a care to his feelings. You are cutting him open, you are tearing him apart. I would like that to stop, or that knife will be turned on you."  
  
Fëanor's jaw dropped. It was as if Finarfin had drawn blood. Eärwen smiled, a cold, predatory smile that reminded Fëanor that swans could be very aggressive in defense of their nests and families. Then she patted him.  
  
"We're looking out for you," Eärwen said.  
  
And though Fëanor was impressed by Finarfin's tactics - his mild-mannered little brother could be ruthless when he wanted to be, it seemed - he also felt a prickle of irritation. If Nerdanel was going to be kind to him, he wanted it to be genuine, not because Nerdanel felt compelled to play nice to not be driven out of Valinor.  
  
Fëanor and Eärwen hurried away with the children before they could be caught eavesdropping, though Fëanor had a feeling Finarfin already knew. That feeling was confirmed during the ceremony itself when Finarfin bestowed the father-name on the child.  
  
"I will call him Artaresto," Finarfin said, and looked right at Nerdanel, serious and stern, before smiling at Fëanor.  
  
Fëanor tried not to laugh out loud, and raised his glass. It wasn't just a name, it was a threat.  
  
Just the same, Fëanor hoped that threat would never have to be acted upon. He hoped that Nerdanel would take Finarfin's words to heart - _you are cutting him open, you are tearing him apart_ \- and she would remember how they had loved each other so fiercely many years ago. He had come back to her. He still wanted this to work, after everything.  
  
"I love you," Fëanor said softly, reaching for her hand, taking her hand and giving it a gentle kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artaresto is the Quenya name of Orodreth.
> 
> Though the name is glossed as "mountaineer", I interpret the name as "Noble Cutter" ("arata" = noble. "rista" = cut), which is a suitable name for a warrior, but also is very much the sort of name Finarfin would give the child in a situation like this.
> 
> Obviously, Finarfin never makes good on his threat and Nerdanel never gets run out of Valinor; she leaves Fëanor in [_Things Fall Apart_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843232).


End file.
